Making scents...

It is hard to believe now, but around about a decade and a half ago, I decided to venture into the making of cosmetics. After the world was taken over in the 1980s by nasty, big corporations there was a sudden rush back to nature in the 1990s. City workers sold their Barbican pads and suburban semis, and moved into the countryside to run ‘organic’ farms – was there ever any other kind? Entire tranches of a pampered, industrialized population turned their attention to personal counselling, reiki healing, jam making, jumper knitting, and more crafts than a coven of witches. Of course, I had to be in on the game. Farming was beyond me – never could stand the smell of manure – so I went in the opposite direction, scent-wise. Aromatherapy was the new cool, and making scents made perfect sense to me. Two (good) books on the subject and a set of oils later, my fingers were twitching to make facial concoctions, body lotions and rejuvenating potions.
No more of my hard-won cash disappearing into the coffers of Boots and Superdrug, I muttered, as I stirred a mixture of Brewer’s Yeast powder, almond oil and other forgotten ingredients, on my kitchen counter. So, why haven’t I knocked Jo Malone off the shelves? For starters, I didn’t understand the importance of preservatives in patent cosmetics and toiletries. Without them, you only have a limited time to use the homemade stuff. Then, it has to be stored in a refrigerator. Since I only own one ‘coolbox’, this meant tolerating food with a definite floral tang – and the sight of your homemade glop amid the comestibles. I’ll never forget the horror on a friend’s face when I inadvertently opened the fridge door and revealed the scatological loveliness of my face pack mixture in a clear, glass bowl. It was no small matter convincing her my place was perfectly hygienic. But most of all, I couldn’t bear the thought of never shopping again.
I just love buying cosmetics. I just love the glamour of it all, the whole experience; going into a well-ordered chemist store or cosmetic department and taking my pick of the elegant, sheeny bottles and jars on offer, going home and pouring over the glossy packaging of a product that promises perfect skin…aaah! At the end of the day, I can look up and say its because I was worth it…

Glitches and ellipses...

An ellipse is a closed curve that looks like a circle that has been squashed flat. Circles viewed from an angle – like the rings of Saturn – often look elliptical. Whereas every point on a circle is exactly the circumference divided by pii, divided by two in distance from the centre, a body would need a qualification in integral calculus to plot every point on the curve of an ellipse. The ellipse does not occur so readily in nature as the circle. Since a circle viewed from an angle can appear elliptical, Galileo thought he was seeing things when he plotted the path of a comet through the newly-fledged telescope. Well, he was. He was seeing an elliptical path, but the seventeenth-century genius thought it was all illusory. This was the only thing he was ever wrong about – apart from getting chummy with people who eventually betrayed him. In the meantime, I struggle to create a ‘simple’ ellipse with pin and string…

Age of Wisdom

I received one only this morning from a well-known organisation concerned with age; save yourself money and your loved ones worry and expense. They haven't stopped in the past year and a half; junk letters advertising life insurance policies, funeral expense plans, catalogues filled with 'age' aids like Stannah stair lifts, thermal underwear, incontinence gear, special shoes and walking sticks, and every bathroom aid imaginable for pulling onself in and out of bath and shower, on and off loo, and so on. My crime? A year and a half ago, I had the temerity to turn fifty - yes! Fifty, that grand old age that brings with it diminishing responsibility, decay and decreptitude...hang on! I'm still working my way through the works of Shakespeare. And after that, there is Webster, and Milton, and Camus, and...have these commercial chuggers never heard that the half-century is the dawning of the age of wisdom in man (and woman!), that the advancing years bring increased knowledge in life, deepening understanding, broadening philosophy? Instead of these eetie-tweetie, icky-ticky pastel-covered brochures with their patronising depiction of smiling, silver-haired models enjoying their twilight years, would someone kindly acknowledge my intellectual maturity and send me instead, books by ancients like Plato, Aristotle, Scorates....after all, soon I will be one of their number.